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Today as I rolled out of bed, I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to wear. I had picked it out the night before. I looked in the mirror saw my white skin and straightened my brown hair. I was not threatened with death, my color did not incite hate.

Because I live in a bubble where I do not experience racism, it is easy to think everything is honky dorky. My life rolls on and I strive for feminist thoughts as I drink my coffee and head to class. Rhetoric becomes my shield and logic my armor.

But this is not the case for my black friends. They are not given the respect in the classroom let alone the public sphere. The lie that I believe is broken. When a professor tells my friend to “Speak on behalf of all blacks” racism is not dead but alive and breathing. When social media breeds texts and tweets containing the ‘N’ word and threats of death, racism is alive.

Can we kill it in one fell swoop? Will one demonstration fix us? Fix the hate? No.

We must stand each day and scream that inequality is real. We must listen to lived experiences. We must listen to loss. We must listen to success. No one conversation will change the world. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t stand for what is right. I agree with the protests. I agree with those who call out racism. Voices need to be heard. Shout. Scream. Break down the oppressive rhetoric. Break down the illogical logic.

It is a lie if you believe that our country is equal. The lie destroys lives and breeds hate.

Let us live in the truth. The most beautiful, ugly, truth. Let us stand for freedom. Let us stand for justice

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As I see those news reports and online videos, I cringe. Anger boils up inside of me. All I want to do is smash glass bottles and punch through walls. How dare those people treat young black women this way? How dare they use their power to abuse the system. I want to walk across the broken glass bottles till my feet are torn and bleeding. Brutalized, like how all those boys, men, women and girls have been treated. I want to walk through their clean, white, suburban houses with a baseball bat and smash down all their walls. The walls that confine their ways thought. The walls that do not see color. The walls of thought that keep racism alive. I want to take racism by the throat and dig my finger nails into their flesh. “You have no place here.” I whisper vehemently. Then, with a strong arm, I throw racism out. I banish them. I turn back around and see people trying to re-build their racist houses. They try to piece their logic back together with cynicism and pity. They struggle to re-build much of anything. I look at them in disgust for defending their racist homes. How dare you defend a abuser of power. How dare you dismiss pain and hurt. How dare you put back on your glasses of blindness. All I want to do is smash glass bottles and punch through walls but I find that it is exhausting and my eyes can hardly stay open. I fall fast asleep much to my demise.